Little boy weathers Hampton tornado

Like a lot of moms and dads waiting for their families to come home on a busy Friday night, I probably started worrying about Miriam and our little boy, Owen, sooner than I had any right to this past weekend.

Yet hours after driving to Chesapeake — where she was picking up a new car — Miriam had called twice to say she was running into delays. So instead of making it home early she had to face the inevitable Friday night fuss at the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel in both failing light and — judging by what I could see out the door — increasingly crummy weather.

Little did I know when they finally pulled up in front of our old Hampton home about 7:45 p.m. that I would be worrying much more just 30 minutes later.

Whirling across Hampton Roads at 25 mph, an EF1 tornado was headed northeast along a path that would take it directly over our house and the Victoria Boulevard Historic District.

At that moment, however, I was just glad that Miriam and Owen had made it home safely. So I smiled and sighed with relief as they came bustling through the door, happy to be done with their long drive and happier still to see me dropping a handful of pasta into a pot of boiling water.

Ten minutes later, we were all seated at the table, spooning out salad and twirling angel hair on our forks when — because of the late hour — I broke family tradition and turned on the TV.

Why I scanned the local channels, I don't know. But when we saw the tornado watch crawling across the bottom of the screen, we immediately started worrying about hail and the new car. Then the watch turned into a warning.

Jumping from channel to channel for more information, we searched and searched but found nothing more than maddeningly generic crawls. Then WVEC Channel 13's Jeff Lawson popped into view, pointing to an ominous, hook-shaped radar signature and drawing a line that took it right over our part of Hampton.

"If you live in this area, take cover immediately!" he said, his urgency ringing in our ears as we rushed Owen to the staircase closet and strapped his bicycle helmet on. Then I scrambled up the steps to a back window, straining to fathom the intentions of the scowling black clouds.

Blocked by our neighbor's towering pecan tree, the view from our back door wasn't any better. Then two inky masses loomed from either side, forming the turbulent wings of a huge, V-shaped vortex.

"That doesn't look right," Miriam said, grasping a rosary as she dashed back to Owen.

Seconds later, the sky filled with spiraling debris — and I raced back to their side just as the barometric pressure plunged.

What happened next was a maelstrom of noise and confusion. Miriam and Owen prayed in Spanish as I watched the ferocious wind and rain racing past our front door. Then that rushing, roaring sound was joined by the sickening groans of metal, siding and other building parts being pried up and ripped off.

How long it lasted, I couldn't say, but near the end electrical transformers began exploding. Seconds later the deafening clamor gave way to deathly quiet.

Through it all, Owen looked up at me with an intent face — his hands clamped down on the handles of a heavy crock pot.

"I'm holding tight," he said, when it was all over. But he fell silent after I picked him up and opened the front door, revealing a landscape that had been stirred up and reshaped by a wildly quirky path of destruction.

Behind us, the big pecan tree was topped — and 10 feet from our front steps a neighbor's siding and porch roof had been clawed to tatters. The trail of blown-out windows, fallen chimneys, downed trees and crushed cars grew worse as we went down the street. But our house and many others suffered no more than a few loose downspouts and twisted, torn-up shingles.

Not until we got to the Hampton Yacht Club eight doors down did my stoic son finally gasp out loud at the sight of boats big and small tossed about like rag dolls.

"What a mess!" he cried, taking in the blocks-long spectacle from the safety of my shoulders.

More gasps followed that morning, when I took him out to explore the devastation I'd surveyed until late that night with a Daily Press photographer. And as yard after yard came up on our long, sad, jaw-dropping walk, the loss of tree after favorite tree was noted and lamented.

Still, the sight of so many cranes and bucket trucks working high in the air proved to be an exciting daylong diversion.

Not until nearly 6 p.m. — while helping Miriam pick up fallen debris — did Owen take the backyard tumble that gashed his brow and led to the emergency room.

Just another souvenir, we groaned, from a day that will not be soon forgotten.